hope.

gravel angel in front of the Virginia Tech memorial.

maybe I'm just sentimental, maybe I'm over-medicated on dayquil and vitamin supplements (home, sick/miserable), maybe it's hormones or cosmic star-crossings... but this to me is beautiful.

I realize the paradox of symbolism - it has the power to inspire and yet lacks to power to itself act or promote change... so often many of us hide behind labels, flags, emblems, slogans, membership cards, resonant rally cries and yet maintain our lives of distance and quiet, turning a blind eye when we're most needed because we're uncomfortable or unwilling to risk our voices, time, reputations, comfort, money, self-image, etc.

And ironically it is most often the smallest and most minute of events that serve as catalysts for significant changes or enlightenment.

So often I think people just need someone to listen to them. The elderly are a perfect illustration of this... fear of mortality and the mysteries of life beyond our own tiny understanding of the universe compel some desire to leave behind us a legacy, some proof that our existence not only was real but somehow mattered.

We none of us seem to truly relish the fact that we are transient beings, just one of a succession of billions... Our misinterpretation of our own importance is the heartbeat of our ego-driven madness and anxiety. We inflate our worth far beyond the truth, develop grand notions of entitlement, as though the world owes us something. We live! Is that not enough?

Beyond that bizarre miracle our lives are our own, destinies our own, choices our own. Why is gratitude for existence so continually sneered at and discarded? The world can be terrible, cruel, wrenchingly painful, devastating, hopeless, unjust, and maddeningly overwhelming... and yet the sun rises, the tides change, leaves turn, and winter is always followed by the promise of spring.

It begins, it ends, it begins anew.

And in the midst of this we have each other... and angels made of pebbles as a reminder.

So kiss me when I'm hurting, whisper loving words in the ears of children, stare softly into the eyes of friends and extol their beauty, believe in the possibility of happiness, lend your strength to others, tread softly upon the earth, dance between raindrops, and sing in the starlight.

Gifts

My dream is the dream of a pond
Not just to mirror the sky
But to let the willows and ferns
Suck me dry.
I'll climb from the roots to the veins,
And when leaves wither and fade
I will refuse to mourn
Because I was dying to live.

My joy is the joy of sunlight.
In a moment of creation
I will leave shining words
In the pupils of children's eyes
Igniting golden flames.
Whenever seedlings sprout
I shall sing a song of green.
I'm so simple I'm profound!

My grief is the grief of birds.
The Spring will understand:
Flying from hardship and failure
To a future of warmth and light.
There my blood-stained pinions
Will scratch hieroglyphics
On every human heart
For every year to come.

Because all that I am
Has been a gift from earth.

- Shu Ting,
translated from the Chinese by Carolyn Kizer

self-improvement.

1. surround myself only with those who bring me joy.
2. more involvement in the arts scene.
3. remember to take more vitamins.
4. personal focus, internal: honesty despite the cost(s), sensitivity, forgiveness
5. personal focus, external: punctuality, accountability, return of ambition.
6. more naked time. obviously.
7. resume letter writing.
8. yoga.
9. 'in the now' mentality, carpe diem attitude, joie de vivre, etc.
10. channel energy toward positivity, light, calm, compassion, happiness.
11. happiness.
12. de-clutter physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
13. remembrance of those lost.
14. activism.
15. travel = priority.
16. acceptance of life outside of 'perfect.'
17. independence.
18. take more initiative... in all things.
19. read the rest of all these damn half-finished books.
20. release of unnecessary vanity.
21. reach beyond my comfort level, explore the world of the new, the mysterious, the unknown.
22. willingness to sacrifice... even the good times if necessary.
23. admit fear.
24. vacuum more often.
25. unconditional allegiance and love to those who love me.

Because this is what you do

because this is what you do. get up.
blame the liquor for the heaviness. call in late
to work. go to the couch because the bed
is too empty. watch people scream about love
on Jerry Springer. count the ways
it could be worse. it could be last week
when the missing got so big
you wrote him a letter
and sent it. it could be yesterday, no work
to go to, whole day looming.
it could be last month
or the month before, when you still
thought maybe. still carried plans
around with you like talismans.
you could have kissed him last night.
could have gone home with him, given in,
cried after, softly, face to the wall, his heavy arm
around you, hand on your stomach, rubbing.
shower. remember your body. water
hotter than you can stand. sit
on the shower floor. the word
devastated ringing the tub. buildings
collapsed into themselves. ribs
caving toward the spine. recite
the strongest poem you know. a spell
against the lonely that gets you
in crowds and on three hours’ sleep.
wonder where the gods are now.
get up. because death is not
an alternative. because this is what you do.
air like soup, move. door, hallway, room.
pants, socks, shoes. sweater. coat. cold.
wish you were a bird. remember you
are not you, now. you are you
a year from now. how does that
woman walk? she is not sick or sad.
doesn’t even remember today.
has been to Europe. what song
is she humming? now. right now.
that’s it.

Marty McConnell– survival poem #17

courtesy, caitlynintherye

Full Time Whore.

This weekend's antics have inspired me to recreate an old college tradition... the Wall of Shame. Home to scandalous visual evidence of all one's sins, regrets, revelry, merrymaking, misbehavior, general mayhem, and civil disorder.

... and photogenically-challenged moments, of course.

Because everyone needs to see their darkest hours face-to-face... and there has to be some marvelous place to collect all of the things too inappropriate for public (and/or online) view.

The past 5 days... let's just say I won't have to dig too deep into the archives to fill the WOS.

the way it was.

This morning, College Ave, 10 am, on my way to jump my car battery.
Wearing Eric's pajamas, last night's clothes in hand.
Disastrous.

favorite.

I would know that
before this life closes,
a soulmate to share my roses -
I would make a spell
with long grey beard hairs
and powdered rosemary and rue,
with the jacket of a tux
for a tall man
with broad shoulders,
who loves to dance;
with one blue contact lens
for his bluest eyes;
with honey in a jar
for his love of me;
with salt in a dish
for his love of sex and skin;
with crushed rose petals
for our bed;
with tubes of cerulean blue
and vermilion and rose madder
for his artist's eye;
with a dented Land Rover fender
for his love of travel;
with a poem by Blake
for his love of innocence
revealed by experience;
with soft rain
and a bare head;
with hand-in-hand dreams on Mondays
and the land of fuck
on Sundays;
with mangoes, papayas
and limes,
and a house towering
above the sea.
- Erica Jong

typical.

me: haven't had it in so ... LONG

Chona: oh, i thought you were talking about sex

Chona: you're talking about pizza

Robert Creeley

For Friendship

For friendship
make a chain that holds,
to be bound to others, two by two,

a walk, a garland,
handed by hands
that cannot move
unless they hold.

For Love

Yesterday I wanted to
speak of it, that sense above
the others to me
important because all

that I know derives
from what it teaches me.
Today, what is it that
is finally so helpless,

different, despairs of its own
statement, wants to
turn away, endlessly
to turn away.

If the moon did not...
no, if you did not
I wouldn't either, but
what would I not

do, what prevention, what
thing so quickly stopped.
That is love yesterday
or tomorrow, not

now. Can I eat
what you give me. I
have not earned it. Must
I think of everything

as earned. Now love also
becomes a reward so
remote from me I have
only made it with my mind.

Here is a tedium,
despair, a painful
sense of isolation and
whimsical if pompous

self-regard. But that image
is only of the mind's
vague structure, vague to me
because it is my own.

Love, what do I think
to say. I cannot say it.
What have you become to ask,
what have I made you into,

companion, good company,
crossed legs with skirt, or
soft body under
the bones of the bed.

Nothing says anything
but that which it wishes
would come true, fears
what else might happen in

some other place, some
other time not this one.
A voice in my place, an
echo of that only in yours.

Let me stumble into
not the confession but
the obsession I begin with
now. For you

also (also)
some time beyond place, or
place beyond time, no
mind left to

say anything at all,
that face gone, now.
Into the company of love
it all returns.

In a nutshell.

love this.

courtesy, my dear friend:

_____________________________

December Sky

Exposed like naked flesh, you’ve never seen before.

A little shocked to be looking at it,

“Was it there the whole time?”

Those black and undulating branches, back lit by an overcast canvas, stir my imagination with their every sway.

Was that sky there the whole time, only glimpsed, all spring and summer, through the rippling dragon scales of heavy deciduous leaves?

No one loves the foliage more than I, except perhaps for caterpillars!

But, my word, these empty branches.

They tickle my melancholy.

Leave me loving what isn’t there

for being gone.

____________________________________

H-A-N-G-O-V-E-R.

Archives

Can't sleep. Perusing old photos/comments/etc online. Found this and laughed out loud, courtesy Facebook:
___________________________

The Photo:


Elise, Em, and Me
Summer 2007
Indiana
After-party pose from the mama's surprise 50th

The Comments:

1:16am on September 13th, 2007

Me: high-waisted drawers have never looked so hot... and can we talk about our poses? Em clearly has mastered the Urkel, but Elise and I are meandering somewhere down another path more commonly used in old films about the Gold Rush of '49 or the musical Oklahoma ... the off-off-off-off-off Broadway version... you know, very 'surrey with the fringe on top.'

1:27am on September 13th, 2007

Me: on second thought, perhaps Elise is attempting to lead us in jazzercise.

6:38am on September 13th, 2007

Elise: sick sick sick. but too priceless to untag. even though i did think about it.

7:07am on October 17th, 2007

Elise: In response to Allison's ever-so off-broadway Oklahoma Theory: I would consider this outfit a vast improvment since my former "Surrey With A Fringe On Top" days. Thats right. Kristie Wright School of Dance recital, circa 1994. White TIGHTS, Black Tap Shoes, NEON GREEN and white PLAID and LOTS OF TOILLE. And a matching, over-sized, head-bow of course. Think Good-Ship Lollipop, meets Appalachia, attacked by our favorite Ghostbusters character, Slimer. Every time I hear that damn song I end up in a corner somewhere clutching my knees and rocking back and forth. Shuffle, ball-change...shuffle, ball-change....

2:25pm on October 18th, 2007

Me: well at least YOUR mother doesn't choose that dance costume photograph to display in full glory in the sun room of your house. note: we are not a photo-display kind of household. you will not find gargantuan family portraits or snapshot collages. diana selects her display photos quite carefully, thus giving each one a certain significance...

and she totally has my fourth grade recital portrait (one of 2 framed shots of me in the entire house, I might add) in it's awkward splendor - it's Pre-Op Allison, don't you worry - with a SIDE PONYTAIL, white tulle skirt that makes me look like a floating cupcake, and large fake rose not-so-elegantly displayed in my little stick arms...

so basically I shall be joining you in the corner-hiding/twitching/rocking back and forth/crying on the inside/anxiety/remorse behavior. oh, and since that was a ballet costume, I suppose I shall be forced to conclude with an arabesque... twirl... arabesque... twirl...

____________________________-

Ahhh... good times.

ADD

Winter restlessness has kicked in, full force. Have cleaned out my closet for the umpteenth time, am staring at a pile of art papers, have tackled the dreaded 'dry clean only' pile with a vengeance, and am delving dangerously into the 'What the hell am I doing with my life?' mindset.

Time for change is upon us.

Maybe all of this caucus nonsense and political clap-trap is getting to me. Not that I'm not politically-minded. I'm the frightening bring-it-up-in-bar-conversation liberal tree-hugging free-love-for-all variety. But my passions and convictions can only handle the bruise and fall-out of publicity campaigns and poll speculations to a certain extent before my mind checks out completely. I've stopped watching C-Span altogether and CNN is limited. Soon I will have given up entirely on television news and will base my education entirely the E! network.

I've started books and not finished them, shredded resume drafts, left cleaning tasks half-completed, scribbled dozens of to-do/to-call/to-write lists, and let most of my perishable food... well, perish in the refrigerator. And I managed to finally rent some films at Blockbuster and not watch them... and they're due soon. I do really want to see Away From Her. Maybe I'll watch that tonight if I can't sleep. (always likely)

January is the dreaded month of financial fall-out, and getting the cash under control has left a bitter taste in my mouth. Oh, and I keep forgetting to mail my thank-you notes. And get my vacation photos printed. And vacuum.

Oh, Mexico. [sigh] How wonderful life was in that magical responsibility-free Pacific dream bubble.

Life has careened around another corner, now, and I'm staring reality in its terrifying face.

Also, I'm thinking of seeing an energy specialist. Except I have a feeling she's not covered by my health plan. Just a guess. And considering the astronomical fees of the doctor who recommended her to me... this one could really bite me in the ass. But I'm optimistic.

I need to work up some energy for tomorrow night. It's Wednesday, after all... and you know what that means. Am determined to sleep in my own bed for once. Really. I mean it this time.

Side note: Last week we had a blizzard. Today temps rose above 60 degrees. If Indiana skies next produce flying monkeys singing the Wizard of Oz theme I won't be the least surprised.

I really miss this.

Saturday

1. working on Brahms.
2. it's cold.
3. clean kitchen = amazing.
4. avian art project continues.
5. finally started Winesburg, Ohio.
6. errands.
7. preparations for "We survived the Holidaze" event with the ATL girls.
8. still catching up on email, photo posting, etc.
9. class strategy summit continues. [survived extended phone call with diana, no less]
10. feeling productive and content.

home sweet home

1. The appearance of snow does not give one the right to indulge in thoughtless, shitty driving. It's just snow... and it's not even on the roads anymore thanks to a fierce team of snow-plows and salt trucks. Get it together. Quit cutting into my lane, pulling out in front of me, or creating your own parking space. Honestly.

2. So ready for the upcoming vacation. five days... five days... five days...

3. I love the new Hall's Canada Dry Ginger Ale cough drops. They taste like gin and tonics. Really. And it's just that kind of holiday season when I'm tense enough at work to convince myself that it's the equivalent of a cocktail.

4. Just came back inside from hilarious cloves break outside with my brother. I walk outside and he's peeing into the snow, singing "Yellow snowww... Yellow snowwww... drawing a circle... a hollow circle... filling it in... now it's a sphere..." Seriously. Then I can't seem to get my clove out of the packet with my gloves on and he grabs me one. Then he pauses.
P: "Yeah... I bet you're wondering right now which hand I used, huh."
Me: "Well... eh... what's the difference... you know only one out of six people wash their hands after they go to the bathroom anyway. Not like it's not everywhere already."
P: "And I bet that one out of six is total crap anyway. I'll bet it's more like one in... nine. Those germs are everywhere. You're putting on lipstick: PENIS."

ahahahaha.

5. SO EXHAUSTED.

yes please

"Hey, you want a holiday martini? (It's a like a regular martini, but with a lot more vodka)..."

can't. breathe.

Am verbatim copy/pasting my best co-conspirator/partner-in-crime/sister's latest life escapade entry. Courtesy, Myspace blog. For reference, she's fabulous. gorgeous. sassy. intelligent. my better half. brilliantly entertaining and equally misfortuned in a small midwestern bubble of trigger-happy wives-to-be. While we may not be fighting off eligible [straight] men with sticks, we are certainly battling daily the argument/accusation "why aren't you married/you need a man/biological clock/tick tock/yada yada yada/vomit vomit vomit"....

thus, in her own delightful words... a day in the life of Edina:

_____________________________

Monday, December 17, 2007

Crunches and Cookies Today was the first day of a new promotion that the station is launching. In a nutshell, I get paid to work out with a personal trainer three times a week with a free membership to a gym for a year. My plan is to get really buff and toned, yet not lose my spanish ass. As much as I complain, its part of my heritage and who am I to turn my back (har, har) on my own culture? Plus, I want to look like JLo and be real strong. I told Ben that even though I don't normally condone violence, I will be able to kick his ass in a couple months. Not to shabby, eh? Well unless you know me. For example, last week I was baking cookies for the boys' Christmas Party when David called. Me: David, you will not believe what I'm doing. Something I never do and I'm really bad at. David: You're exercising?! [ahem, case and point] Me: No, ok. The next thing I never do and I'm not good at. David: Ooooooh! You're COOKING!!!!...? Anyways, I should probably describe the couple hours leading up to my first round of one-on-one time with my trainer, Jeff. We had our company Christmas carry-in, which means....in the 2 hours before my training I ate the following: 2 helpings, more like heapings....chicken noodles 1 spoonful.....some type of hashbrown casserole with corn flakes on top 1 helping.......mashed potatoes with about 1 lb. butter already melted in 1 giant piece.....ham 2 helpings.......creamed corn casserole 2.......sausages wrapped in bacon, covered in brown sugar I'm not even going to BEGIN with the desert table. After feeding my face and then using the amazing alcohol-dar that I have that enabled me to pick out which wrapped gift contained booze in the White Elephant gift exchange, I headed off to the trainer. The building the gym is in, is actually very cool. It is in an old skating rink so basically its a ski lodge with some equiptment in it. I promptly met up with my man-trainer Jeff. He is one buff dude. Basically, my whole work-out is based around sculpting. Not too shabby because that means....NO CARDIO! Yesssssss. It was however, slightly distracting when Jeff was attempting to show me what positions and exercises to do on the gravity machine. He has the tightest ass I have ever seen, by far. There it is. I said. Thats right. A couple interruptions by awkward middle aged white men who I swear, hang out there all day, later and my 40 minute work-out was over before I knew it Not as disasterous as I thought although I'm already starting to feel sore. Which means I'm going to have another one of those post work-out mornings where I am so sore that I get stuck in the middle of my bed, not able to move, even just to roll over and turn off my alarm clock. It is truly the most pathetic of situations. Right, so work out done. Great. Burning calories is awesome! Leave it to me to find some way to undo it all. "How?", you ask? Two words: COOKIE. PARTY. Yes, I was invited to a cookie party. In my opinion, it is a way for women who like bridal showers/baby showers/bachelorette parties to work in just one more event to play games that include giggling, paper products, drinks that have more sugar than alcohol. Lets be honest, the only time giggling, paper products, and girly drinks are a good time is when you are laughing your ass off as you toilet paper someone's house after you and your companion (Patsy: write this down, doesn't this sound fun?) drink and entire bucket of pre-made margaritas. Back to the point. I went to this party to appease a very nice lady who even I can't say no to and it was a "Cookie Party". (and not the Sarah Silverman kind of cookie party, although I tried to pretend like it was allllll evening) I think my favorite part of the night was the gingerbread house sequence. 13 women, 2 teams, 1 sassy radio anchor who likes to win. I couldn't help it, no one pumps icing through a pointed plastic bag like me. Well, needless to say we won the gingerbread house making contest. The prize: A brand new giant measuring cup!! AND, as the designated measuring-cup-passer-outer-lady hands me my cup, she says this: DMCPOL: Here you go! Now you have to get married and use it! Me: ..........I'm pretty sure I could finish all of whatever this could possibly make on my own, thanks. What. The. Fuck. Who actually says something like that? Because thats what I always think of when I walk into a Williams Sonoma or Crate and Barrel, "Oh boy! I can't wait to get married so I can shop here!" Never. First of all, cooking is something I do to survive, not for fun. Second of all, for those of you that don't know me...we don't use the "M" word. Yes, I want to find my soul-mate. Yes, I want to have a family. However, why do I need the same institution that tells me that my gay friends CAN'T get married, that I (of all people) can? People in my life that will make a much better wife than me: Luke List Joey Wolhieter David Weinheimer K-Fed Preposterous. Anyways, this lady tells me I need a measuring cup to get married. What I really wanted to say: DMCPOL: Here's your measuring cup, go get married! Me: Here's a new, shiny, turkey baster. Go fuck yourself. Cue glass of champagne 3. It was at this point that I completely tore those cookies up. I tried all of them, twice even. And tomorrow when I am sore as hell but know that I ended up +a trillion calories even after working out- I blame you measuring cup lady, I blame YOU!

__________________________________

it's the turkey baster comment that really got me. I hope the opportunity arises soon for me to steal it for my own impolite/diabolical purposes.

what would I do without you in my life???

Weekend Mathematics

DECEMBER SNOWSTORM +











POTENT BEVERAGES =











POST-TALBOTT HANGOVER.
[and neck "art"... hence shameful grimace]

One-way Express VIP Ticket to Hell

Sin is in, dahling.

[I'm so totally fucked.]

Hmm.

"In any relationship there are decisive moments, often apparently inconsequential but which in reality determine the future, just as a rock or a fallen tree up in the mountains may determine the course of a stream."

Robert Hellenga,
The Sixteen Pleasures

Isn't it true, though? Who cannot (with the clarity afforded only by hindsight) honestly pinpoint just such a moment, some single frame in the film of one's life, upon which ultimately pivoted the descent (or, in positive light, ascent) of a relationship?

Is this like a Hollywood flashback fantasy? No, I think not. There is no billowing smoky haze to encircle the event in memory nor can anything be truly proven... but these 'turning points' in life, while subjective, are everywhere among us. Historically, it is so... The Battle of the Bulge, the landing of the Mayflower, a shot fired from the grassy knoll... these (to borrow a cliche phrase) changed the course of history. The danger in indulging in these thoughts is potent, of course. The 'what ifs' are healthy only to a minimal extent.

What if... I pursued that original dream.
What if... I had chosen a different school.
What if... I'd stayed at home that particular evening.
What if... I hadn't struck up that conversation to begin with.
What if... I had taken that other job.
What if... I'd actually listened to that advice.

It's gotten me thinking. I suppose the best solution is the mentality of 'carpe diem,' the effort to value each coming day and its possibilities, opportunities to seek out and chase like mythical pots of gold. Perhaps there is no treasure at rainbow's end... but is there anything more exhilerating or fulfilling than running madly toward the horizon and gleefully dancing along the way?

Regardless, it's time for me to start waltzing my way towards that unknown again, isn't it?

Interactive Journaling

excerpt, me:

I mean honestly. What does a girl have to do to get a sexually-assured heterosexual male who is not the country-fried negative brain cell variety with an interesting past, good conversational ability, social graces, a few unmentionable skills in bed, decent looks, and minimal baggage slash not-too-close-to-home circle of friends? WHAT?

excerpt, e:

the relationships we have should be to the tune of the beatles, or tony, or sondheim, or fucking strauss god dammnit.

What people like you and I need, what we DESERVE is someone who will not necessarily give as much as we do but appreciate what we have to offer. We give, love, and encourage to a fault. Thats just how it is and no matter how many times it bites us in the ass we will never stop and decidedly so. Therefore, in the end, all we really need is someoneto recognize that. Maybe we give because growing up our parents gave us everything we needed and more and thats what we know, or maybe we give because we just genuinely like others to feel good. I think its a mix of both. Either way, we have been given things our entire life,and thats how we learned that gifts don't necessarily solve everything, make us feel better, or fill-in whatever was missing in the first place. We truly like to give rather than get, but more than that, the piece of the puzzle that needs to fit into a healthy relationship for us is appreciation.

______________________________

*God only knows
God only knows what I'd be without you...
- The Beach Boys

day in the life

Chona: i finally dropped my laundry off on saturday

me: nice

Chona: it'd been awhile since i had done that
it was terrible
i have no clean anything

me: I didn't shower today, my clothes didn't match, and I had to work a full shift

Chona: i'm down to my last pair of underwear...and we're talking..like...they're not even underwear

me: like the flossy too-sexy-for-monday leftovers or the bridget jones granny wear?
either one = HOT

Chona: haha
they're pink and they're like boy short things
soooo i've had to shove them into my jeans

me: oh god I was wearing those on friday night

Chona: but not tight cute boy shorts...they're like...flappy

Also

I want to read a book in bed with someone.

I miss that.

spirit and cheer

It's always a difficult journey home along those long gray roads, especially in the murky darkness of winter mist and rain. The medians blur together like a miniature version of L. Frank Baum's golden avenue to Oz and sometimes the reflectors in the middle glimmer with the suggestion of treasure in the distance.

It can be a lonely trip returning to the mundane realities of home after so vibrant a weekend away. How was Dorothy able to stand it, I wonder? How do you experience life in Technicolor and yet afterwards still find beauty in the greys of Kansas?

It is a hard fall from so high a place.

I know there exists a safety net below me but I cannot seem to make it out clearly in the shadows. I'm grateful for those who hold its ropes taut, invisible though they remain in my ignorant darkness. Yet still my mind yearns for reassurance.

Where does my life lead? How on earth will I possibly ever maintain a sense of calm in the midst of so many tempests? How do you teach yourself the serenity to withstand the aftermath of disaster, failure, and disillusionment?

Where do I begin?

Number 4: "It was almost lifelike."

Location: Kokomo, IN (City of Firsts)
Date: Friday November 30
Event: Out of the Blue show feat. Elise Shrock
Venues: Sycamore Marketplace...
followed by the infamous Sycamore Grille...
the McDonalds on Sycamore...
and, of course, Camp Mitchell.

Chalk this one up to one of my more colorful hometown evenings with my parents, a gaggle of Purdue kids, several buckets of flavorful lagers, Diana's 2am organic brunch and cocktails, and shamelessly enthusiastic best friends.

[To set the stage for the evening, allow me to fast forward to 9am the next morning... when I woke up in my parent's house... in the guest bedroom... in a twin bed... with my brother's friend sharing the bed with me... and another of his friends in the other bed. Yes... classy.]

The evening began chez Shrock, a fashion show extraordinaire to the background television soundtrack of Amy Grant and her husband on Oprah. That's right... Amy Grant in all of her 'let's watch my schmoopy wedding montage and sing carols' glory. To her I say, "Congratulations, Ms. Grant. Your hair has improved since 1991... but we would all sleep a little better at night had we not endured the video of you on the porch of a log cabin in your rocking chair and his-and-hers velvet cloaks."

Apparently this is the ideal conservative religious marital fashion experience. One can only compare the bedazzled, country-fried "Mr. and Mrs. Federline" track suits and shudder. Equally.

By six o'clock the Von Shritzell ladies find themselves at the Marketplace facing down a giant pile of fried green beans, sweet potato fries, wings, and a steaming bowl of fresh mussels. Meal highlight: collecting bones, shells, and corresponding bits in large plastic pitcher fondly referred to as "The Gut Bucket." Said vessel gleefully photographed to preserve memory of its loveliness. It's the art of the everyday that truly brightens life.

The acoustic stylings of Jay and Dave opened the stage. Unfortunately a certain core of Lafayette patrons were not present for this due to a severe case of Being Lost In The Middle Of Nowhere. Things were a little tense upon their arrival due to the flaming daggers shooting out of a certain few sets of eyes toward the unfortunate (and hungover) driver. Pats and Eddy quickly attempt remedy by ordering drinks.

Fast forward to Out of the Blue's second set, a three song number featuring a local radio celebrity. Side Note: Etta James should always be followed by ad-libbed "If I had a Million Dollars." It was spectacular. Favorite verbal praise of performance: "I mean... they told me you were good... but you were, like, really good. Seriously."

I shan't attempt to describe the joy and merriment of getting down on the dance floor with our mothers, brothers, fiancees, and a certain middle aged gentleman who knew me well in childhood who told me directly that I had "grown up nicely."

Have since decided to ignore shady undertone of said compliment and pretend that my... err... physical development had anything to do with it. Because that is simply creepy and I won't allow breast-related asides to rain on my back-home-again-in-Indiana groove parade. Eeeeeeeeekkk.

Kudos to the gentlemen for volunteering to dance with us. Simply astounding what a few liquid dance lessons can do for the manliest of fratmospheres. Well done, boys. Well done.

Determined after closing several sky-rocketing bar tabs that the night should not end, our fraggle of a group proceeds one block west to another downtown drinkery. Although this place remains at the top of the alleged 'where to go for Kokomo nightlife' list, we managed to catch a completely deserted cavern of a bar and descended upon one of many empty tables... Truthfully I was relieved. The last thing most of us wished to encounter was a barrage of awkward meet-and-greets with former high school classmates and any variety of childhood acquaintances.

Although, even in my hazy/giggly/slurring state, I do recall finding the waiter to be most unfriendly. Considering that we were the only patrons (and therefore his evening's source of income) I find that a very unacceptable rudeness. Bad form, sir.

Cue Allison ordering tequila shots. [mistake]

Cue Allison drinking a kamikaze shot immediately after. [worse mistake]

Cue caravan to McDonalds. Pulling around the drive-thru in parallel, we leave our windows open to allow for conversation between my car and Wes's... which I don't actually have any clear memories of but I am certain involved several well-placed Sordid Lives quotes and a good deal of ridiculousness.

As passenger, I find myself suddenly affronted by one husky stack of 20-something redneck man leaning into my face and bellowing inquiries as to the nature of our interaction with the boys in Wes's car. "These guys botherin' you?" He had jumped out of his enormous black rumble of a pick-up truck with the itch to start a fight under the stale veneer of chivalry. Oh my redneck life.

Am pretty sure I did my best drunken-blonde-bat-of-the-eyelash-breathless-gasp, "What? Ohhhhh! noooooo! [giggle] That's my fiancee!"

[I must give thanks here for our heroic sober drivers, Wes and Eddy. Most deeply appreciated, especially in the circumstances. Sobriety in Kokomo is not an easy thing.]

We return home to Camp Mitchell and descend upon the kitchen like animals to the food trough. For reasons unknown, Mama Mitchell was still awake and whipping up cocktails and scrambled organic eggs with the gusto of an infomercial chef. Have been informed that I paired my snack wrap with a couple heady crown old fashioneds. [yet another terrible mistake]

We split into each and every room in the house, pulling out beds and blankets and couches like the drunk refugees that we are. In my now-blacked-out oblivion, I decide to forgo my own down-feathered cocoon of a bed upstairs for one in the guest bedroom. Am quite positive I invited myself and forced one of the boys to sleep with me. In a twin bed. In my mother's guest bedroom that she calls 'the pretty room' and my grandfather calls 'the dead ladies room' due to its set of heirloom furniture and many family photographs of now-deceased female relatives.

As I said, I do not recall this portion of the evening. I do recall, however, waking up and squinting at my wrist for the time. 9 am. Completely disoriented, I swivel my gaze around the room in exhausted stupor and wonder where the hell I am and how the hell I got there. Am wearing my black bar top and a pair of my youngest brother's athletic shorts. I turn over and come face to face with my brother's friend staring at me with a look that says, "I don't know what to do with you and cannot make up my mind how to politely address this awkward situation."

Allow me to clarify that this night was not one of aggressive romantic intentions on my part. To be quite honest, I. hate. sleeping. by. myself. This sentiment is exponentially magnified by massive consumption of alcohol and my general sense of decorum is thereafter discarded entirely.

Cue Diana entering with water glasses, a barely concealed smirk and roll of the eyes, and ibuprofen for all three of us. Drew soon follows with a shot of Mona Vie for me. [best hangover cure ever] Let it be said, this situation is most entertaining in view of my mother's staunch no-sleeping-together-in-my-house-unless-you're-married rules. Ah yes. Turns out I do have an inner sense of rebellion. Very Easy Rider. Take that, Mom.

Although... in all truthfulness... Eddy's shrugged summation,' You sleep where you fall,' is closer to the truth of my choice of bed.

Breakfast finds a few stragglers and I seated around the kitchen table pouring over the local newspaper and heralding the town's landmark tourist attractions, specifically Old Ben (the taxidermied remains of the largest steer I have ever seen in my entire life and subsequent proud town trophy. Additional bizarre fact: Old Ben's tail was stolen years ago and remains mysteriously absent to this day. I'm not kidding).

I miraculously managed to eat about a third of a banana and later some of Diana's world famous banana bread as well... followed by a 30 second shower and change of clothes.

I say my goodbyes and kiss my parents. I walk down the driveway to where E had parked my car the night before... only to find one dead-ass battery and a car that not only won't start, it won't even gurgle a complaint. As in silent. No. Juice.

I hobble back inside and plead for my father's help with a jump-start. It just so happens that we are a household with its own car-starter. Yes, auto troubles are so typical of our clan that my father felt the need to invest in a product specifically designed for dumbasses. Turns out it just wasn't man enough to get the engine started. I mean honestly, when E and I hit the skids, we really go for broke. Our motto? "Go big or go home." We therefore turn to the tried-and-true jumper cable method. 20 solid minutes of revved truck engine and linked motors later, my battery is still absolutely lifeless.

Mind you, it is a Saturday (the second busiest of the holiday shopping season) and I am due to be at work.

Thankfully Dad roots around in the basement workshop and discovers the God of All Jumper Cables. These things were seriously the thickness of Paul Bunyan's wrists and had the aura of brawny man's man oozing out of their sinister copper jaws.

Well, those actually worked after a while and I managed to peal out of the neighborhood and make it to work only 15 minutes behind schedule. Of course by this point my fourth hangover of the year has me in its evil clutches and I am stuck in the anxiety nightmare of a whirlwind retail cyclone. Oh, and my bosses' boss spends the afternoon at the store. I swear this woman has a sixth sense for when I will overindulge and purposely schedules her visits exactly one day later.

Yikes.

Also...

Drew: Hey Wes, do you think you'll still be going out when I'm old enough to drink?
Wes: [pause] Does a bear shit in the woods?

Rod: Is hooni-juana really illegal?

Me: I just don't know what he wants from me!
Miranda: Well... have you asked him?

K: It's The New Yorker... it's existential.

Matt: I think you just need to molest him. Get it over with.

So you like me, huh? - Broken English

____________________________________

and this never leaves my thoughts:

I would know that
before this life closes,
a soulmate to share my roses -
I would make a spell
with long grey beard hairs
and powdered rosemary and rue,
with the jacket of a tux
for a tall man
with broad shoulders,
who loves to dance;
with one blue contact lens
for his bluest eyes;
with honey in a jar
for his love of me;
with salt in a dish
for his love of sex and skin;
with crushed rose petals
for out bed;
with tubes of cerulean blue
and vermilion and rose madder
for his artist's eye;
with a dented Land Rover fender
for his love of travel;
with a poem by Blake
for his love of innocence
revealed by experience;
with soft rain
and a bare head;
with hand-in-hand dreams on Mondays
and the land of fuck
on Sundays;
with mangoes, papayas
and limes,
and a house towering
above the sea.
- Erica Jong

quotecyclopedia, November edition

E: Hey Allison, you ever notice how we're really only at our best... when we're horizontal?

Why are we in such a rush to move from confused to Confucius? Do we search for 'lessons' to lessen the pain? - Sex and the City

Kisses are a better fate than wisdom. - e e cummings

E: For the record, we are now going to refer to it as the crunk-try club.

Karson: ... and that guy in the grey vest? [head shake]

C: She looked like... Marie Antoinette. And not in a good way.

E: oh my god, you watched the showgirls vip edition without me?? i hate that i fall asleep so early.

Ok, you're not exactly what I call 'eye candy'... you're more like... 'eye patch candy.' - Will & Grace

Ana: I heard it... on the street.

LaTrelle: You eat with that mouth?
LaVonda: Mostly!
- Sordid Lives

UNDER PRESSURE. - David Bowie

Peter: Walked into bdubs kokomo... walked out. Drinking at chilis. This town rocks.

David: Man, there's nothing quite like Night Before Thanksgiving Bar Night With All The Local Rednecks In Your Hometown. Ah, I've missed it.

This bumper... was pulled off... by the bus... OF SELENAS! - Selena

and it's ALL coming BACK to me nowwwwwwwwwwww... - Celine Dion

Let's see...

my whiskey cocktail is half-full... and it's not my first of the night.

there is a dead buck in the bed of the truck in the garage in my house. surprisingly that is not the lyrics to some backwoods redneck summer campfire song, it's just the reality of life chez mitchell.

if one were to take this as a slice of life of the mitchell family, one would actually believe that things were wonderful... because tonight? they were... they are.

watching scrubs rerun with peter right now. love it.

I built my own fire tonight, it's still smoldering in a sexy-hot-chocolate-ski-lodge-naked-under-a-blanket kind of way. for the record, no one here is presently naked.

I have no responsibilities for a full 24 hours aside from doing my laundry and creating a kick-ass thanksgiving feast-a-palooza. this year we are experimenting with turkey brining... don't know what that is? me neither... but it sounds promising. it too is relaxing in the garage with the dead deer. we here in the midwest are, after all, equal-opportunity carnivores.

good things:
scotch
whiskey
leftovers
frank caliendo
fender guitars
digital cameras
grapefruit
my dog, Mags
real fireplaces
feather beds
embarassing photo ops
massages - I could really use one
being home... in every sense of the word
not caring that I haven't slept... for days
waking up with people I love, regardless
knowing that I'm about to sleep... soundly (thank you, crown royal)

autumn clouds

I feel myself dangerously veering off the edge of my usual sense of self, at risk of somehow making that fatal mistake, that unforgettable hurtful remark, that unneccesarily heartless sneer at someone undeserving... I'm like some cliche 'mean' character who snaps at everyone and mistreats her loved ones despite being, on the whole, a very lovable person. [think Lifetime movie] It's like my next scene should be where some trusted mentor takes me aside for the pep talk and lays out the details of how my downward spiral affects others.

where is this angst coming from? this is not like me.

I'm worn down, worn out, and beginning to feel the november stress accumulate in my veins like a stored drug that I've grown to tolerate in high doses.

Please let tomorrow see the clouds lift and something sparkle in these blustery days.

priceless

online conversation with a friend has produced this gem of a quote:

my friend: i was like "i can't sleep." and he said "me neither."
so then i asked "well, want to do it and see if we pass out afterwards??"

hmmm. perhaps a new trick against the perennial insomnia that plagues my nights? oh I love it.

The Mouth of Hell

Have managed only three hangovers* in 2007, a triumphant leap beyond previous years when that number was more likely per week. My binge-drinking years were not pretty... since then I've discovered that I'm a cheap date (take that as you will), more often prefer to drive myself around (thus remaining sober in the process) and provide my own getaway car, and I really don't like expensive bar tabs.

That having been said, however...

Today was the Colts/Chiefs game, a landmark event that brings friends into town and usually heralds large dinner parties and or bar crawls. This was not today's agenda, however, as I not only didn't see any of my Chiefs fan visitors but quite frankly didn't see the any of the game itself.

What was I doing, one might wonder, on this terrific Sunday afternoon?

Sleeping. Nursing off 2007 Hangover #3. I got sick. I drank milk. I clutched my temples and cursed vodka and martinis. I groaned aloud. I petered around my apartment after my 3 hour nap at a decidedly slow pace and thought about cleaning... but didn't. I brushed my teeth but decided showering required too much stamina. Smelly barwear was thrown into a heap in the corner and there it remains, marinating in the aura of last night's extravagance and bad decisions... like bringing everyone home with me and drinking more. Not smart, Allison.

At this point I'm just praying to regain strength and motivation before work tomorrow.

It was a great Saturday night, though. A great Saturday night.



*Side Note: Each hangover has involved a certain Ms. Edina. Coincidence? I think not.

To-Go List

I spend most of my time traveling "in-between..."

between homes. between jobs. between friends. between cities.

This is not to say I'm transient in the sense of skipping across relationships and locations like a stone skimming over water, no... Merely that I quite honestly live behind the steering wheel of my automobile, am rarely home for any sincere length of time, and I adore the chase and change of life on the move.

Am compiling a list of destinations for the upcoming months, an ever-growing agenda of friends to visit, events to attend, places to wander. I find myself promising excursions and promptly blending dates into a mental slushie, but nonetheless look forward to road trips, airlines, and the joy of sleeping on sofas and air mattresses.

Early Spring shall hopefully find me...
NYC
DC
Chicago
Milwaukee
Boston

Easily grasped distances, mostly Midwest/East Coast. Am feeling the flutter of giddiness at the thought... because it has been such a beautiful autumn, travel-wise. I long for more.

what dreams may come

this is a moment held perilously aloft in fantasy for years, a lifetime to be truthful. I cannot in any possible way portray the truth of this second, this slice of my life. I am stunned silent, suspended mid-emotion and quite frankly... happy.

yes, I said it. I'm happy aka content aka You Wish You Were Me. It's real. It's out there. It exists and for this one (probably quite brief and transient) moment I am actually happy.

really happy.

H-A-P-P-Y for those of you who know me if even slightly well enough to understand.


for justifiable reasons [known to a confidential few, a very slight few],I'm overflowing with the ripple effect love... I love you, I love you, I love you.

I ask only for this blissful glimpse, this delight... this is what they were talking about...

this is it, this is really it. Please give me strength and fortitude of character to follow this path. It must be true.

It must be.

Marathons, Monuments, and Mattresses: Indy takes on D.C.

One of the greatest weekends in memory: Washington D.C. with Jules, Lauren, Abs, and Jen (and company)...

While I am still attempting to catch up on sleep and desperately hoping that I can soon recover my voice, I am afloat on the high of a weekend of nothing but good things. Yep, take that as a Martha Stewart reference... because it was.

Also, let it be noted that this weekend (Sunday, specifically) was witness to the birth of a new WLU slogan... the brilliance, genius, and true inspiration of one Ms. Julie Arnold:

"WE LOVE US
SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO."

Expect tshirts, billboards, drunken text messages, a few handmade sharpie tattoos, and perhaps even the revival of the political button... we're definitely taking this one global.

Homecomingpalooza... the aftermath

1. my laptop has gone to complete shit and finally refuses to turn on... AT ALL. motherfucker.
2. several new bruises. origin unknown.
3. I wanna borrow that top.
4. my feet still ache from imitating a marathon runner in stiletto heels on Saturday night in downtown Bloomington... and shortening my skirt to barely-ass-grazing-length to extend leg stride... which is a fantastic way to meet middle-aged, pleated-Dockers-wearing, stumbling-down-drunk, I-think-I'm-still-as-sexually-viable-as-I-was-in-college, I'll-hit-on-you-by-mentioning-that-my-daughter-is-your-age-too male alumni... oh and one older gent actually asked for a ride to Indy. Classy, sir. If I might suggest next time you omit the detail that your wife doesn't know where you went for the weekend. It doesn't arouse much sympathy and certainly weakens your potential hook-up factor. Just saying.
5. have taken to wearing my glasses as part of general protest against putting effort into my appearance. now remember why I don't like wearing glasses: they get so damn dirty, you know... constantly. who has time for that? plus I miss sunglasses. Sayonara, Team Dorothy Parker.
6. laundry.
7. continued disgust at all things involving, featuring, approaching or concerning Nancy Grace.
8. NPR pledge drive week means I'm listening to XM.
9. new addition to house furnishings now increases my seating capacity from 6 to 15. This is good news as the long-awaited Boob-Tube-a-Palooza is now officially on the horizon. Start preparing costumes.
10. purchase of the week: $6 hardcover Cole Porter songbook. So in love, indeed.
11. 'What has two thumbs and doesn't give a crap? Bob Kelso.' [Scrubs is the greatest thing to hit the insomniac television lineup in years.]
12. YEAH COLTS.
13. Washington D.C. in t-minus 3 days.

journey's end

Home from watching the wolverines trounce the shit out of the boilermakers. It was all kinds of ugly and depressing, and I didn't even attend Purdue... and quite frankly I have been known to support Michigan, you know, a lot... but there is still something in me that feels the need to defend a poor little cluster of 19 yr old boys in tights who (while shamefully losing) are being screamed at and taunted by 110,000 screaming Michigan fans. Really. It wasn't pretty.

Like my grandfather's best man at his wedding famously reminded everyone (not at the wedding but on multiple other occasions), "Remember, it's just a group of undergrads playing a game in the grass on a Saturday afternoon."

Lake Michigan is beautiful, tranquil, and awash with some of the most soothing landscapes imaginable. Mostly I just wanted to sit alone and read Anne Morrow Lindbergh and chew on a pencil and take long, contemplative walks along the beach.

So, you know, I went to the Big House for my dose of serenity and inner calm.

I have just woken up from a solid 5 hour nap, am still at home, and am stuck in that post-nap lethargic limbo of not feeling awake but hating myself for desiring more sleep... I guess I had a lot to catch up on from these past several weeks.

Oh, and I really wish we had some apple butter. That would be great.

Spent the entirety of the road trip listening to Tony Dungee read his memoir. Several thoughts:
1. His voice is absolute magic... it is velvety and calm and well-articulated and always filled with that mild thunder of conviction and strength. I wish I could install a permanent version to read to me nightly as I struggle to sleep. I would listen to him read the phone book, microwave oven manuals, advanced physics formulas, binary code, whatever... and it would be beautiful.
2. I am becoming rather well versed in football names, figures, plays, and team locations. This is a good start and has given me a miniature sense of hope that I may one day become one of those really cool girls who isn't such a complete sports-trivia dumbass.
3. Everything in his life, as detailed in the book, manages to become glory and education made manifest. Something to work on.
4. Becoming extraordinary in Coach Dungee's mind is simply being the best at what is ordinary. A simple philosophy and perhaps the best new approach for one overly-analytical-o'erarching-dreamer-lost-soul-wanderer such as myself. Like we always learned in high school - 'keep it simple, stupid.' Also something to work on.

Fuck

Today:

1. Lafayette - car finally spiffed up and soon to be liberated from lifelong muteness and given his first horn. woot woot.
2. Shopping with Diana... including the "Sportsman's Warehouse," a testosterone mecca with the apparent motto of "You either shoot it, stuff it, or marry it." Shudder.
3. "Cirque Dream" at Clowes Hall with Diana, etc. Basically it's a cirque show with a jungle theme... or as I like to think of it, contortionist jungle teletubbies on crack. I had an anxiety attack, Diana was beside herself with delight. Fucking serious, I feel like someone beat me with a steel pipe (physically and emotionally). damn shit damn damn damn damn.
4. one gloriously large and strong Old Fashioned... I do love coming home to the Mitchell liquor cabinet... crown royal as far as the eye can see... and I so desperately (desperately) needed a drink.
5. no sleep for the past few nights + uber-strong cocktail = sleep of the innocent tonight. is going to be magnificent.
6. drive to michigan tomorrow. when I feel actually like myself (free of residual stress and kentucky bourbon) and definitely going to tally up the number of hours/miles spent in a car during these 4 days... because shit, it's a lot.
7. call me tomorrow.

town crier

Currently find myself in a situation not unlike that of my high school years: sitting in the basement of my childhood home delaying the inevitable insomnia by diddling away the evening hours while my family slumbers two floors above.

I was admiring the stars from my backyard and drinking in the fresh breezes of autumn, now (it seems) at last upon us... it is so peaceful here, so green and spacious, and the country air is sweet with the promise of harvest and drifting leaves... my absolute favorite time of year. It's nice to be able to sit alone and appreciate the serenity of the blue-green darkness, bask in the 'silence' of the nocturnal creatures, "so loud, so loud the million cricket's choir..."

my thoughts are compressing with recent events, the speed with which life can change... for better or worse. these next few months look to be laden with heaviness, speckled with trials... we have seen and survived worse, I know. I know. And this too shall pass.

But for now perhaps it is easier to sit in the starlight and just be... the acceptance will come, it will come, it will come... "if I fall, let it be from a high place..."

Plateau?

I feel like I'm riding the tail end of a bright and sparkling comet, hair blowing in the space-wind (there is such a thing, right?) and face alive with the future ahead of me and the recent triumphs of the past few weeks behind in the stars...

Except this feeling is so fragile, so sensitive... a house of cards (to switch metaphors) leveled by the slightest touch. Such is my life that I know to expect not only the unexpected but also the bitch-slap of reality and daily trifles.

To quote Elise, "I've hit a plateau." I could perhaps be headed toward greater heights, merely settling for a moment to enjoy the view, or I could be seated atop what is to become the peak of the mountain, about to slip, tumble, or descend with caution, who knows?

I suppose this is just classic anxiety kicking in or maybe some deeply-ingrained WASP sense of guilt for having been so happy and blessed of late... my friends are incomparably wonderful, my family has even reached some sort of stasis, my days have been filled with events and memories and I feel loved and appreciated...

So what could possibly be coming around the corner to tear it down? Is it completely terrible that I'm so terrified? I'm just not accustomed to long spans of general happiness... or really any span of general bliss... the past decade of my life has been certainly positive in many ways but oh so incredibly dark, "so dark, so dark and deep... the secrets that you keep..." [apologies for the Les Mis. reference]

It's just that... my life is a lovely and precious thing at the moment, certainly far from 'perfect' or 'ideal' or 'well-planned' but remarkable in the way everything is seeming to appear... even the weather is better and brighter than it has been in years... aside from the fact that it's mid-October and the record-shattering heat is a most alarming environmental issue... but it's sunlit and embracingly warm. One of my neighbors* (one I actually don't know and don't think I've ever seen in my life before) decided to take a little siesta in a chaise lounge outdoors this afternoon... wearing nothing more than a speedo!! SPEEDO! As in man bikini!

*For the record, he was at least quite attractive... and kudos to a fellow uninhibited spirit... but this is certainly uncharacteristic of Indiana autumn behavior. IE: Von Maur has already transformed itself into Santa-Snowflake-Holly-Jolly-Christmas-Land and there are roadside stands selling pumpkins.

Anyway, perhaps this is just life as it should be always?

From Blossoms

From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.

From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.

O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.

There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.

- Li-Young Lee

la chouffe

1. I love brunch at Hoaglin's. Best hangover relief ever... and some damn good coffee.

2. Wedding-stravaganza Saturday has begun and I have T-minus 46 minutes to pull myself together, pack anything I might need for tonight, the wedding, a bar, a sleepover, work at 7 am tomorrow (am quite delighted, really), and the Colts game afterwards. Sometimes I wonder why I pay rent at all and don't just start living out of my car.

3. It is 90 degrees outside... and it's mid-October. But global warming is still a conspiracy theory concocted by a set of crazy left-wing fundamentalists, right?

4. I just had the greatest shower imaginable... hurrah for rinsing all that bar-scum down the drain and scrubbing off last night's slutty leftover makeup... sweet blessed relief.

5. No sleep last night and no sleep tonight pretty much guarantee a forecast of Mitch the Bitch appearing in full glory tomorrow. Those damn Colts better win.

Gen XYZ

In order to keep up with our lives, we have taken to sending intricately and painstakingly detailed emails to each other daily. We not only describe daily events but have also taken to including full verbatim excerpts of our own text message conversations. Is this pathetic, we often wonder? Survey says: nah. We'd do the same damn thing in person if we didn't live an hour apart so we are merely taking advantage of this glorious technology-filled era we live in.

Example, excerpt from this morning's email of last night's Retro Rewind:

Had a blast with Wes at the V... natch. We got there around 10:40 or so and the dance floor was... empty. Except for us (duh). Hilarious - a whole lotta awkward kids hanging around the perimeter waiting for somebody else to be ballsy enough to start the party. Pshhhh. Wes and Patsy promptly took full advantage of our time in the spotlight. You would have loved it - it was like the luau all over again (only this time instead of a table full of SMUMs and SMUBS - that's right, Smug Married Undesirable BITCHES - it was just a bunch of 22 yr olds hovering around without purpose). LOVE IT. Now that I'm thinking about it... perhaps we should just change it to SMUB... really, the 'B' could stand for either BITCHES or BASTARDS quite interchangeably. I think I'm on to something here. Unisex insult. Go Team AbFab! - P

I must admit, some of our most brilliant life wisdom has resulted:

Wouldn't it be nice if it worked in a way that we could just call up
someone and say "Hi, I'm really interested in you" in both a "I find
you interesting and intelligent" and "i really want to get into your
pants" kind of way. "Would you like to go out and have interesting
conversation and top off the night by sleeping (this may or may not
mean sex) with me?" Things would be so easy.....if only. - E

This brings up a point I have been discussing with Julie of late. Jules was saying how she wished somehow the world could reinstate the Victorian practice of 'stating one's intentions.' As in announcing that one would like to begin courting... for the record, I love that word, "courting." Puts such a refreshingly elegant spin on what we now commonly refer to as "hooking up" or (ugh) "hanging out." No messy decoding of body language or online profiles or ambiguous remarks, just a good solid "I LIKE YOU, LET'S GO OUT" kind of thing.

This is in keeping with our motto or rather description of self, romantically speaking: "forward but old-fashioned." As in I have no hesitation about initiating romantic exchanges of any level - communication, invite, asking for phone numbers, seduction scenes, what have you... but despite my bit of Gloria Steinem sparkle, I often wish someone else would do the job for me. Sometimes it can be the most wonderful thing to actually be pursued and wanted without all the effort, tu sais?

The Parallel Lives of Patsy and Edina

As usual, Pats and Eddie are living in twin universes, one in Indianapolis and one in the City of Firsts. Thankfully, things are going well for both of us on some counts.

Most recent email excerpt from the fabulous Elise Shrock:

score for the AbFabs.

Pats and Eddie: 2 Skinny fake bitches of the world: -2

The scores are looking good, as we are ahead.

1 2 3 4 FIRST DOWN

I feel as though I have traveled the Indiana interstate incessantly for 5 days and am soon to arrive upon the start of another such week of travel, trailing brake lights, and destinations unknown... this whirlwind of journeying back and forth between my ever-growing circle of families and evolving friendships certainly has taken its toll upon me physically over the past two days and I've slept as soundly as one who has never known the loneliness of restless nights... too soundly, it turns out, as I hauled myself a breakneck speed to work this morning (late, oh so desperately late).

This is the life I lead, one in limbo between my multitude of obligations and my desires. I feel like a moth drawn to the flame of family and was so gratified by the weekend and its exchanges, so purely joyful for the sake of it, basking in the glory of high-spirited games and get-togethers, the ambrosia of love that is created in such a closely connected group, my original set...

Many of us had not been together since the memorial service (and Hawaii before that), and therefore to see everyone at the game on such a miraculously beautiful afternoon was a very sweet privilege... you can see the change, certainly, but mostly it is a sensed loss, an unspoken collective missing of someone as everyone settles around this newly diminished family structure. I was so glad we made it to that end of the campus at last. Such wonderful family.

And today itself was the occasion for not one but THREE best friend high-fives. THAT is progress.

...

In theory I was an existentialist, a creator of meaning and value, but in reality of course I was a seeker. I couldn't help trying to read the world like a book of signs: the cadet, the receding lights of the train, the American women, the beaming face of the man with the umbrella and now the circus posters. Who would catch me as I somersaulted through space?

- Robert Hellenga, The Sixteen Pleasures

my thoughts, in three parts

I.

I have fallen in love more times than I care to count with the highest potential of a man rather than with the man himself, and then I have hung on to the relationship for a long time (sometimes far too long) waiting for the man to ascend to his own greatness. Many times in romance I have been a victim of my own optimism. (285)

II.

"Everyone gets like this, at the beginning of love. Wanting too much happiness, too much pleasure, until you make yourself sick. Even to Wayan this happens at beginning of love story. Lose balance."
"I'm embarrassed," I say.
"Don't," she said. Then she added in perfect English (and perfect Balinese logic), "To lose balance sometimes for love is part of living a balanced life." (298)

III.

...and I wonder if I am capable of being somebody's sun, somebody's everything. Am I centered enough now to be the center of somebody else's life? (311)

moment of truth

Mom: "So I was at the Great Banquet* and you were at a gay bar."
Me: "Yeah... but doesn't that explain our entire relationship in a nutshell?"



*religious retreat

Deep Thoughts by Elise Shrock

I have the most fabulous friend ever.

Elise Shrock (Butler) wrote at 6:41am on August 31st, 2007

Um. It is 6:34 a.m. I am at work, and it is way to early to stomach those dresses. I just happened to take a gander through these pics during a music break and let me just say: My hawaiian dress is STILL sealed in the bag that I put it in the next morning at Allison's house. I know that is a gross thing to admit but I'm so very, very, scared of going near it for fear of the White Castle stench creeping out. My mom and I decided that we should probably burn it. Seriously, it's the only way to take care of the problem and way more fun than just throwing it away. It's kind of like at church camp when they tell you to write your sins on a paper and then throw them in the fire to give them up. Well, those dresses are the paper and White Castle was the sin.

Music Mill

A spontanteous evening of music and drinks and eerily connected acquaintances and friends.

Highlights:
1. Met Josh Kelley. He's lovely. And one of very few people I can wholehearted say looks delicious in ripped/faded jeans.
2. Did not wake up in any random musician dressing rooms or ask for autographs in inappropriate anatomical areas. Makes for a nice change.
3. 2 people I absolutely adore were also present... and knew each other (crazy!)... and were as lovely and beautiful as always. (small small world this is)
4. Pat McGee is still so cute I could eat him with a spoon. Yes, Jen Kraus, he's still adorable.
5. Lauren's drunk dancing is, like... so hot right now. Thank god we're all so fantastically uninhibited and I can count on my friends to be not only non-judgmental but also equally outgoing/outrageous/fearless.
6. For the first time in my entire life, I actually gave out a phone number at a concert... that belongs to MY FATHER. That's right... I was totally pulling a PR job on my dad as a surgeon and gave his office info to this fantastic guy we met with a wrist injury.... but really, isn't is a compliment that he asked me for it? I can't really be so terrible if people are (soberly) considering my professional recommendation of my pops as a valid and worthwhile thing, right??

Mmmmm... I love us.

frustration

I really wish I could find the December 25, 2000 New Yorker. Specifically page 96.

_____________

Old Roses

• Hear Donald Hall Read 'Old Roses'

White roses, tiny and old, flare among thorns
by the barn door.
For a hundred years
under the June elm, under the gaze
of seven generations,
they lived briefly
like this, in the month of roses,
by the fields
stout with corn, or with clover and timothy
making thick hay,
grown over, now,
with milkweed, sumac, paintbrush.
Old
roses survive
winter drifts, the melt in April, August
parch,
and men and women
who sniffed roses in spring and called them pretty
as we call them now,
walking beside the barn
on a day that perishes.

- Donald Hall

1967 Envy

Watched Belle de Jour today with the incomparable Catherine Deneuve. A very noir film - a twist of sophisticate in a sexually bizarre cocktail of fantasy and bedroom eyes a la 1967.

God do I want her hair.

Had just watched the Colts game by myself (and ironed, incidentally) and was feeling a bit too Midwestern for my own good. Solution? Vintage French cinema.

Was admittedly shaken by the fantasy rape sequences - the film introduces Catherine's character in a scene where she is (turns out) imagining her own humiliation and gang rape in the Parisian woods. Small wonder the film was seen as 'controversial' and shelved for 35 years.

Fascinating, though, isn't it? 40 years later and the piece still holds power, even for someone like me who spent her entire childhood dismissing shock from her emotional arsenal of reactions... Oooohhh and she looks so ravishingly stunning in every scene, even when she has sunk into her most desperate moments and her hair is bed-russled and heaped atop her miserable head. She wins my Style Icon of the Month and henceforth I shall attempt some semblance of her poise and elegance.

If only someone would send me the Yves Saint-Laurent wardrobe she wore.

weekend update

1. Thursday: game night/reality television debate + fox and hound + late night breakfast conference with Julie.

2. Friday: psycho neurotic cleaning fest. highlights including hand-washing of each and every goddamn piece of cookery/flatwear/drinking vessel in the house and dropping the cutting board on my foot (hair in curlers at the time). red wine consumed. in subsequent effort to compensate, overdress and primp a la Miss America. Continue with Julie to Rathskellar, run into friends, drink Big Gulp size pilsner, admire general terror of surrounding urban male population (read: no one talked to us... no one). Proceed to MacNiven's and kick off Cranberry/Vodka Fest 2K7. Run into friends. Consume multiple cocktails. Befriend strangers, some worthy, some not so. Divulge phone numbers. Joined by friends later in the evening, by which time I am most deliciously and ridiculously inebriated. (Dishwashing fiasco long forgotten). Make several embarrassing comments to be later retold to me the next day by Julie. Eventually walk home with Julie. Somehow set off smoke alarm whilst attempting drunk popcorn snack. [smoke alarm now resting dormant on kitchen table]. Crash in bed.

3. Saturday: wake up next to Julie with smashing hangover. Send texts while Julie snoozes, mostly to complain of hangover.
- Classic response from Elise 1: "Changing for a wedding we are obviously late for in a truck stop somewhere along a highway in ohio while mom's menopause is at its peak! And missing you!"
- Classic response to response from Elise 2: [photo included of Elise in car spritzing perfume] "French shower... check. Car shave... check. Trying to make this mess of last night's bar hair look acceptable... damn near impossible."
Spend entire mid-day recovering on couch. By 4 pm finally manage to shower and refresh before running errands. Buy more groceries at Target than my poor 'rexic kitchen has ever seen. Also enthusiastically replenish laundry detergent supply and cleaning products. Hurrah for Downy April Fresh. Home for evening despite invites to several bar soirees (most of which are discovered far late into the night).

4. Sunday: Colts game. [Sorry 'boutcha Houston]. Had planned on group spectator event yet lacked motivation to track anyone down or leave the flat. Sorry everyone. Instead, simultaneously cheer at television while ironing dress shirts and finishing laundry. Manage to escape incident burn-free despite aggravating fumble/interceptions which inevitably occurred during crucial ironing-of-the-collar moments. Begin Phase One of seasonal wardrobe switch by storing most useless summer pieces and unveiling autumn sweaters. Mmmmmm... and Clean Sheet Day.

doppelganger

If I were brunette and more conservatively religious, I could perhaps be confused with this Allison Mitchell.

Alas, I am not, although I hope that she does feel better soon.

One of the multitude of discoveries made by googling oneself. Turns out my name is far short of 'unique' but a few notches above 'run-of-the-mill.' nonetheless, there are me's out there scampering all over this wide planet whilst waving my own familiar moniker as if it were solely theirs.

Little do they know, those other Allison Mitchells, that while they're coaching their parenting seminars and raising organic livestock and managing the world's finance, somewhere in the heart of the nation is someone like me.

p.s. I love this song:
Silence everyday for two weeks
and I know you cry when you think I’m asleep.
You’re so distant, can’t you turn to me?
Am I different?
How should I be?
I love to get a little bit crazy maybe.
I love to get a little bit dirty. Sue me.
Why is it that everytime I’m near you, you’re gonna desert me?
Speak up if you’ve got something to say.
If not I’ll just act as if we’re okay.
I don’t think that we should waste one more night.
Let’s solve this so I can turn down the lights.

Patsy and Edina, Labor Day 2007

Freshly coined vocab:

"SMUM" - smug married undesirable man
"SMUF" - smug married undesirable father
"run-did" - running candid (photo)

Patsy: "Chris is, like, the greatest father ever."
Edina: "Yeah."
Patsy: "And he's, like.... ripped."
Edina: "Yeah... he's a dilf."
Patsy: "Yeah."
Edina: "And I'm about to apply deodorant right in front of him. That's right you big dilfster, come and get it!"

yes.

Genius words from Kevin, as stolen from (I am actually ashamed to admit) facebook:

I love the words menagerie, treat, cavalcade, tricked.

I choose quality over quantity in nearly every aspect of my life.

I hate Nickelback.

If you can't stand the madness, get out of my life.

Keep your laws off my body, and your religion out of my government and chances are we will get along fine.

I hate people that think they are famous/fabulous. You better be able to back that up. Don't get invited to VIP events? Not fabulous. Picture not in a magazine? Not famous. STOP ACTING LIKE IT.

If you want to be my friend, you can't wear sunglasses at night/in bars/clubs/etc.

This world needs more people of our caliber, Kiegs. Love you.